Tests of Friendship
by Coyachayqui
Summary: A two- or three-shot that adds my perspective on how Athos and d'Artagnan might have dealt with the revelation of the Gascon's involvement with Milady de Winter. And the events that followed. Mostly d'Artagnan and Athos H/C.


"Athos lives like a monk. Well, a drunk and violent one," Aramis joked, earning chuckles from Porthos and d'Artagnan, and not the slightest reaction from the swordsman.

The four of them were in Aramis' rooms, seated on worn-out oak chairs that were close to falling apart, drinking wine and eating bread with cheese. They decided to change the scenery to save the Gascon from dying of boredom. Around two weeks earlier, during a mission, he jumped into a freezing river to save two Musketeers who got unlucky (though Athos called it "reckless") in a fight. He earned not only the respect and gratitude but also a particularly nasty cold. For the first few days, it was so bad that his three brothers were preparing for the worst, fearing that it would end up with pneumonia. While d'Artagnan prevailed, he was still weak, the doctor ordered him to rest, and his friends were constantly making sure that he was not overexerting himself. As a combination of all that and being a prisoner in his room, he was going mad. Even though there wasn't much others could do to make it better, at least they could invite him for short walks around the garrison and evenings in different rooms.

"I don't buy it. Athos simply has a story he keeps from us. And the woman from the trial is involved," Porthos argued.

Him, d'Artagnan, and Aramis noticed how Athos's body tensed. He seemed to be weighing his options.

"What woman from a trial?" the Gascon asked, puzzled.

Athos sighed. "Well, I have to tell you anyway, because things got more complicated. I've been waiting for the right moment."

Aramis almost jumped on his sit, earning a slight shake of the head. "Finally!"

The swordsman looked away for a moment and stretched his legs. Then, he straightened his back, returned his gaze to his friends, took a deep breath, and started. He was amazed at how calm he could stay. Apparently, it got much easier the second time. His voice only faltered a few times. One of his brothers always miraculously appeared right at his side to squeeze his shoulder or put a hand on his back.

The first part, of course, was nothing new for d'Artagnan. Which, unsurprisingly, didn't escape Porthos and Aramis' attention, at least after they got over their initial shock.

"I wonder... Why you didn't make your regular stupid face, which you always make when something surprises you?" the marksman asked, looking pointedly at the Gascon.

Athos smirked slightly. "He knew. Long story."

Aramis theatrically bent forward and put his chin on his intertwined hands.

"We have all the time in the world. D'Artagnan can't go out, and we can't leave him alone or he will," he observed.

"Hey, I won't be locked in here until the end of the world," the Gascon argued, pouting his lips.

Porthos didn't participate in the conversation, choosing to shake his head and wait for further revelations.

"Fine," the swordsman conceded. "Remember when we had to escort Bonnaire back to Paris?"

"You stayed behind, and d'Artagnan got back for you," Aramis quickly recalled, taking a large gulp of wine.

"Yes, but he didn't find me as we told you. He dragged me out of my burning mansion, which my wife set on fire. She was about to finish me off when she heard him screaming my name," Athos revealed.

"In hindsight, it wasn't the brightest idea to draw attention by starting a fire, if she was planning to..." d'Artagnan chimed in, attempting to lighten up the mood. However, he realized that if he finished, he would only make it grimmer.

"Well, I knew you can't be left alone for five minutes," Porthos finally spoke up, his arm draped casually over a windowsill.

Athos talked some more about that night, with d'Artagnan adding something now and then. They both left out several details, like the older man breaking down, looking at his burning property.

In time, with more wine, they became less serious. Even Athos almost laughed at the situation a few times, though the haunted look didn't disappear from his eyes. Noticing that d'Artagnan was growing tired, fidgeting on the chair (of course, he refused to stay in bed), he decided to end the conversation.

"Alright, gentlemen, we talked enough about me for this lifetime. I will only say one more thing. Before we talk to Treville and take action, please be careful. She is a cardinal's spy, and she hates me. Or hates us all."

Porthos raised his eyebrows. "Not that I do not appreciate the advice, but how can I be careful around someone if I have no idea how they look or how they introduce themselves?"

Athos sighed. "Right, I apologize. Dark-haired, very beautiful. Always wears a ribbon over her neck to cover the scar. Goes by the name Milady de Winter."

For d'Artagnan, the world stopped. He felt the air leaving him, his head was spinning, and he had to grasp the edges of the chair not to fall.

Aramis, following his medic instincts, was instantly by his side, holding his arm and laying a cool hand on his cheek.

"Hey, I think you should lie down," the marksman said gently, with Athos and Porthos shooting worried glances over his shoulder.

"Leave me be, Aramis. It's not that," d'Artagnan shook him off as soon as he composed himself a little. "God... Athos, I'm... I'm so sorry."

"What for?"

The Gascon put his head in his hands, only to raise it seconds later and look his mentor in the eye.

"I... I slept with your wife," he blurted out.

"You what?" Athos asked with such desperate disbelief in this voice that d'Artagnan's heart shattered.

"I d-didn't k-know. It w-was m-my first night-t in P-paris. In the morning, she tried to frame me for m-murder."

The swordsman shook his head. "And you haven't seen her since?"

d'Artagnan ran a shaky hand through his hair. "I have."

And so he told them about who funded his entry fee for the contest. And about who saved him in a dark alley when he was believed to be a criminal.

Everyone was silent, trying to process a coincidence that seemed impossible to happen. d'Artagnan, consumed by guilt, perceived it as anger.

He raised from his chair too abruptly, which caused a fit of coughing.

"I don't think there are words to apologize, Athos. I am disgusted with myself. I will go, I'm sorry," he said and took off before anyone else could react.

When Athos got himself together, more or less, he got up to rush after him.

"Don't scare him more," Aramis muttered.

The swordsman turned around abruptly. "I'm not angry at him. I was, for ten seconds."

"I know. Well, I wasn't sure, but I know now. Still, if you forget how to speak again, you will scare him more," the marksman explained.

Athos waved his hand dismissively to signal that he knew what he was doing and left. He still felt as if an icy breeze hit him. But it was all her fault, and d'Artagnan got caught in the middle. It was not alright that he felt responsible. And it would not be okay if it got between the four of them.

* * *

It turned out that finding d'Artagnan wasn't as easy as he imagined it would be. He didn't go to his room. On his way out to look for him, Athos met a very annoyed captain Treville, who asked why the Gascon went out into the freezing night, only in his shirt.

"No time to explain. Which direction?" the swordsman replied curtly, not bothering to ask why the captain didn't stop the younger man.

He went where Treville pointed him, but it seemed that d'Artagnan moved fast or really didn't want to be found. Running down the streets of Paris, cursing at the rain and cold, Athos tried to think like his protege.

It would make sense if he went to Constance. He took off in the direction of the Bonacieux house. However, while she was his only other friend in Paris, d'Artagnan was a proud man, and he probably wouldn't forget how she dumped him. So, instead of checking there, Athos kept looking into every dark alley, each tavern that he passed. He even asked those few people who were on the streets if they didn't see him.

So far, it was all pointless. d'Artagnan could be anywhere, and if he was still outside, the more time passed, the more effect it could have on his health.

The puddles were splashing under his heavy steps. He saw people lurking out of their windows, curious about what he was doing. He was growing frustrated, glaring at them.

_Of course, d'Artagnan would like to be far away from everyone_, he suddenly understood. There weren't many places where it was possible. Sometimes, the Gascon would go to the stables, as he felt particularly well around the horses. But Athos checked that. The other place was a small garden that was halfway between the garrison and Constance's house. It belonged to a church, but it was easy to get in at any hour, and the swordsman knew that d'Artagnan went there sometimes.

He was nearly out of breath when he arrived at the place, instantly spotting a hunched, shaking figure on one of the benches.

"If you get more sick after this, I will let Aramis kill you," Athos said as soon as he approached his friend.

When he was leaving, Treville shoved a cloak into his hands, which he now draped over d'Artagnan's trembling shoulders, putting his arm around the Gascon's back to provide more warmth.

"I didn't mean to make a fuss. I wanted to go to Constance. Then, I realized that I couldn't, and didn't know what to do," the Gascon mumbled, looking at his soaked shoes.

"It's alright. I understand. We are going back to the garrison now, though," the swordsman replied, getting up and dragging d'Artagnan up with him.

The younger man had no energy left to contest the command, so he allowed Athos to lead him back to Aramis's room, which earned them even more curious looks and whispers.

* * *

When they passed through the door, they almost crashed into Aramis and Porthos. Having been informed of the situation by Treville, who needed to scold more people for being reckless idiots, they were getting ready to go look for their younger brother.

"Thank God!" Porthos exclaimed, ruffling d'Artagnan's hair.

He rushed to add more wood to the fireplace. Aramis began rummaging through his medicine bag.

d'Artagnan didn't say anything, allowing Athos to seat him near the fire. He felt cold, tired, and resigned, staring blankly into the dancing flames. As if nothing could make the situation better or worse. He didn't react when his mentor started taking off his soaked clothes.

Soon, he was stripped off them and wrapped tightly in several blankets. Aramis made him drink something nasty, though he barely perceived the taste. Then, he was given a goblet of wine that someone warmed up near the fire.

While it was pleasantly warming, he was still shaking like a leaf, his illness worsening the effect of staying outside in the cold.

In the meantime, the marksman found two sets of dry clothes and handed them to Athos, who put one of them away and quickly changed into the other.

"Alright, we will leave you two here," Aramis informed, his tone suggesting that he and Porthos were giving them the space to settle things between them.

"If he gets worse, we will be at Porthos's room," he whispered to Athos.

Both leaving men patted the swordman on the back. Porthos squeezed d'Artagnan's shoulder, and Aramis kissed him on the cheek.

"Don't scare us like that, brother," he said quietly.

* * *

When the door closed behind Porthos and Aramis, Athos sat next to d'Artagnan. He took one of his hands from under the blankets and started rubbing it between two of his own to warm him up.

'You don't have to do this," the Gascon mumbled brokenly, trying to take away his hand.

"I know, d'Artagnan. I want to," Athos replied, stopping the movement to keep his friend's hand between his.

"How can you even look at me?" d'Artagnan asked, tears welling up in his eyes.

The older man smiled sadly and shifted to take the other hand.

"d'Artagnan, you couldn't have known. How could I be angry at you? You were not the first, and likely not the last, to be tricked by her," the swordsman said calmly.

"It's not about anger," the Gascon started, allowing the tears to roll down his cheeks, at last. "I know how it all hurt you. And I can't stand that I hurt you more. I... I saw your eyes when I told you.

"And I wanted to leave because I don't want you to have to look at me and be reminded about her all the time," d'Artagnan finished.

Athos felt a lump in his throat. He thought that d'Artagnan went out in the spur of the moment, not that he planned to leave because he assumed it would help him deal. It was apparent how much the decision costed him, that it made his whole world fall apart, and that it came out of brotherly love.

After saying it aloud, d'Artagnan broke down more. He started sobbing openly, struggling to breathe because of his sickness and coughing now and then. Athos dropped the Gascon's hand and put one of his on the younger man's back, and another on the back of his head. Then, he pulled him closer, so d'Artagnan's cheek landed against his chest.

This time, his protege didn't try to break apart. Quite the opposite, he desperately clung onto his (well, Aramis's) shirt, crying so hard, Athos started to get worried that he would suffocate.

In between sobs and coughs, he repeated, "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry."

The swordsman squeezed the Gascon a little tighter, as the latter was trembling hard from the cold, the sickness, and sobbing.

"Shhh. You have nothing to apologize for, brother. You did nothing wrong. It's alright, we are okay," Athos soothed, rocking his friend back and forth.

After a while, d'Artagnan either calmed down or grew too tired. He was still weeping quietly into his mentor's chest.

"Don't ever think like that again, d'Artagnan. That it would be better for me not to see you. Nothing would hurt me more than losing a brother," the older man spoke when he was sure he would be heard.

"I was going out of my mind when you got sick. And today, when I couldn't find you... I would never forgive myself if something happened to you because of her. And me," he finished.

d'Artagnan wanted to say many things, including that it would only be his fault and how grateful he was. But he was too exhausted to stay coherent.

"Hush, we will talk tomorrow," Athos silenced him, rubbing circles on his back. "Try to relax. You need to rest."

The Gascon obeyed, feeling thankful that he could stay in his friend's arms. He let his eyelids close and focused his mind on the comforting touch. Soon, sleep finally claimed him.

Athos continued to hold him for some time after that. He couldn't believe how much mess his wife could make. She almost took one more brother from him. And she didn't only hurt him, but d'Artagnan, too. He felt furious, remembering the Gascon's desperation and his readiness to take the blame. Not to mention, she could have done something serious to hurt him. It was as if his demons came out of the box and became dangerous to everyone around him.

Yet, he also felt warmness spreading through him, thinking about how the Gascon burst into his life and how much he was willing to give him, probably undeservedly.

Eventually, he lifted the younger man and carefully laid him down on the bed. When he was tucking him in, d'Artagnan opened his eyes and stared at him, confused.

"Everything is alright. Sleep. I'm here," Athos assured, getting comfortable on the chair next to the bed.

"You had a hard day, you should sleep, too," the Gascon mumbled.

"Later," the swordsman dismissed the idea.

He put his hand on the younger man's forehead. Satisfied with its temperature, he moved his fingers a little further up. He stroked his protege's hair long after he fell asleep again.

* * *

Porthos and Aramis came back in the late morning, carrying soup, bread, and water.

"How is he?" the marksman asked, organizing things on the rusty table.

"He was a bit uneasy in his sleep but didn't wake up. The fever is not up. As well as we could hope for, I suppose," Athos explained.

Aramis smiled at that, perching on the bed to check for himself.

Porthos sat down on his favorite spot by the window. He stretched his legs and crossed his ankles in front of him.

"And how is the... thing between you?" the dark-skinned man asked casually.

"Good. I hope. He thought it would be better for me if he disappeared, so he didn't remind me about my wife and what happened," Athos shared. He subconsciously took the Gascon's hand that was lying above the covers, completely ignoring the fact that he was disrupting Aramis's examination.

"Talk about clueless," the marksman smiled under his nose. "I can hardly think of anything that could be worse for you."

"You don't have to rub it in his face," Porthos muttered, pretending to scold his friend for talking about Athos's brotherly affection toward d'Artagnan, which was extremely unusual for the guarded man.

Then, he leaned forward to take some bread.

"Shut up."

"Which one of us?"

"Both."

"Whas goin on?" a sleepy voice from the bed interrupted their banter.

"Nothing," Aramis assured, helping him sit up and passing a goblet with water. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," d'Artagnan replied, not sounding at all convincing.

"Truth," Athos demanded firmly, though his eyes showed gentleness.

The Gascon sighed. "As tired as if I run to Gascony and back."

Porthos chuckled and approached the bed to put a bowl of soup in his hands.

"Eat this. It's still warm. It will be good for you. Then, you can go back to sleep."

The large man squeezed his younger friend's shoulder before going back to his seat. The truth was, he was more relieved than he could say that this nightmare of a week would probably end without any major victims. It seemed that, despite his attempts to worsen the situation, d'Artagnan would be alright. And perhaps, one day, even Athos would be fine, if he was finally sharing what was haunting him. But that was only possible if all four of them stuck together. If something happened to the Gascon, or if he decided to leave, it would be as if losing a limb, especially for the swordsman, but really, for each of them. d'Artagnan had quickly found his way to their hearts. It felt as if he was one of them since the beginning.

"We have good and bad news," Aramis announced. He stood up and walked to a cupboard near the door, to open the top drawer.

"Bad first," Athos muttered, looking at Porthos and Aramis expectantly.

Porthos sighed. "Treville is sending us on a mission. We are to find a runaway noble who owes the king a lot of money," he revealed, at which d'Artagnan's face fell, though he composed himself quickly.

"That is indeed bad. And boring," Athos agreed, shooting a worried glance at the Gascon, who would have to be left alone.

"Oh, don't look so sad. We negotiated with Treville for you to stay and play d'Artagnan's nanny," the marksman smirked, taking a few things out of the drawer and packing them in his bag and pockets. "You can both stay here, have fun."

After a few more minutes of saying goodbyes and joking, Aramis and Porthos were both almost out of the door. They turned around one more time to wave their friends goodbye.

Athos looked at them meaningfully and mouthed, "thank you."

They understood without words that with everything that happened and all that came to light, he needed to stay with d'Artagnan and make sure the young man was alright.

"You can sleep more now," the swordsman encouraged, putting the bowl away.

"Only if you sleep, too," d'Artagnan said stubbornly, moving closer to the wall.

His mentor chuckled and checked his forehead one last time, brushing away a few strands of hair in the process.

"We could try that," Athos agreed, climbing onto the bed. "Thank Heavens that Aramis has big needs and a large bed."

* * *

_A/N: I didn't forget about my larger story. However, I had the craziest and busiest months of my life. I need something quick to get into the groove :) Enjoy!_


End file.
